


The Light Broke Through

by emansil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 08:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emansil/pseuds/emansil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After seven years of intense bitterness and House rivalry, Harry and the others return to Hogwarts for an 8th year. A joint Quidditch team made up of all Houses is determined to be the answer to all their problems. Professional Quidditch player, Oliver Wood, agrees to be the coach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Light Broke Through

**Author's Note:**

> Written for community HP_3somes. All thanks and gratitude to my beta wwmrsweasleydo for her support and encouragement. Any mistakes remain my own.

The Light Broke Through

 

“Fuck off Malfoy, our side won. I don’t have to put up with that blood-traitor nonsense from you anymore.” 

Harry heard Ron as he, once again, began the daily cursing of Draco Malfoy. Harry rolled his eyes at this exchange. Surely they would grow tired of it one day, he thought. Then again this was Ron and Draco and this was what they had always done. 

Not even the special eighth year Quidditch team, that was being formed, seemed to make a difference. It was a good plan; they all, Harry, Ron and even Draco, as well as others, agreed. Like so many other plans, however, it was the putting it into action that was the problem.

Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by a thick Scottish brogue, admonishing them, to "bloody shut it”, as Oliver Wood strolled onto the Pitch. All conversation stopped, including the Ron and Malfoy exchange, as they all turned, as if mesmerized, to listen to the words of the coach for this special team. Oliver had that way about him. He expected and accepted the respect that was due him. Harry often wondered if Oliver knew how much that respect was guided by a desire to get inside that Quidditch uniform Oliver wore so well. Males and females alike found the Puddlemere United Keeper desirable.

Oliver had agreed to take a year off from his professional Quidditch career. It was the wish of everyone that this eighth year, a repeat of seventh for some and a first time for others, be a time to bring these students together, a time to put aside and behind them the previous seven years of animosity. Harry scoffed internally as he remembered Headmistress McGonagall’s speech the first night back. So far there had not been much putting behind of anything.

Oliver was going on about sportsmanship and the desire to win, to be the best always. It was a speech Harry had heard, even given himself, as captain; so many times he felt he could have repeated it verbatim. He tuned it out and began to look around at the others. They clung to Oliver’s every word.

Harry’s eyes lit on Malfoy. He too was drawn to the magnetism of Wood, although Harry could see that the ex-Slytherin was trying his best not to be. Some House animosities were going to be more difficult than others, but if anyone could break the Slytherin/Gryffindor hatred for one another it would be Oliver Wood. That is if Malfoy cooperated. Understanding and agreement took both sides. Draco was as important to this as was anyone else. Harry supposed he’d have to do his part as well. The animosity wasn’t between just Malfoy and Ron.

Oliver must have read Harry’s thoughts as he motioned for Harry for him to come forward, then repeated the behavior with Malfoy. Baffled--having not been paying any attention--Harry turned towards Ron, who pushed him forward. The expression his best mate wore was familiar. It was the same as when Harry’s name had propelled from the Goblet of Fire. Harry gulped, almost swallowing the clove-flavoured gum he’d recently discovered. 

He really wished he knew what was going on. He cast a glance at Malfoy to see if he knew any more than Harry. Of course the git simply smirked at him. Yet at the same time, there was something about Malfoy’s expression that told Harry he had no more knowledge of what was about to take place than Harry did. Harry grinned at him and then almost laughed when Malfoy’s face and ears turned decidedly pink, before he returned to his patented sneer.

“Okay, you lot. Here’s how this is going to happen. I’m sure you’re all capable of doing a head count and seeing we have many more candidates for the team than positions. First of all, no one and I mean no one, will be turned away from the tryouts. All are welcome, but we will need a first team, and a second, and,” he paused to look around and apparent to all did a quick head count, “perhaps even a third team. Of course, not everyone will make it. You’re all not only welcome, but encouraged to try. Obviously, these are not regulation rules, but this situation is unique.”

There was silence as they all waited for him to continue. Harry and Draco looked back and forth from each other, to Oliver, to the others. He was so unsure what their place in all this was going to be, Malfoy forgot to glare at Harry.

“Harry and Draco will be the two captains for the tryout part.” When Draco’s name was mentioned the place erupted into disarray. 

“Why should he be a captain?”

“He didn’t do anything to save us!”

“He-who-still-can’t-be-named, lived in his home.” 

“That’s not fair.”

And so it continued, on and on, the shouts coming from every side. Harry wished they’d shut up. He wasn’t any fan of Malfoy either, but none of them really knew what Malfoy had been through the past year. Not completely sure himself, Harry had seen enough through Voldemort’s eyes to know it had not been pleasant.

Malfoy stood ramrod straight, his face a pale white and perfectly still, except for his lips which quivered with emotion. Anger or despair, Harry couldn’t tell. 

Oliver continued on as if the disruption had never occurred. “They will be the ones to coach each of you to find your best positions. We’ll have practice matches and scrimmages, as well as individual tryouts. Just because you’ve always been a Keeper, does not mean that will be your position now.” 

Oliver stopped talking and with that glint in his eye that Harry should have remembered, but didn’t, turned to look at the students gathered there. “These two were chosen for a variety of reasons. First off, they are, decidedly the best two Quidditch players in this school. Yes, I know there are others here that are excellent as well, but none of you are as competitive as them. Secondly, everyone is aware, surely, that they were the leaders of the most intense House rivalry Hogwarts has had in a long time. If they can work together, anyone can. Are there any questions? I didn’t think so,” when nothing was said. 

Oliver then turned back to his temporary captains. Harry was so busy nodding to Ron, that of course Ron would be his first choice, that he almost missed it.

“To keep these particular captains from only choosing their friends, I will be the one choosing who goes with what captain. But first the three of us need to sit down and discuss individual players’ strengths and weaknesses.” The sounds of disappointment broke through. “Feel free to practice or play on your own. We have the pitch for the rest of the afternoon. Try not to kill each other or yourselves.” He turned and walked back in to the dressing room, Harry and Draco following quickly after him. 

“I’m sorry about all that,” Harry said as the two of them hurried to catch up to Wood. Harry had forgotten how quickly the man could move.

“S’alright.” Malfoy muttered next to him. “I’m sort of used to it.”

“But it’s not right,” Harry continued.

“Yes, well, as I understand it, I’m sure they’re all thinking the Malfoys finally got their comeuppance.” They reached the dressing rooms, where the first strategy session was to take place. Harry had no chance to respond or question what he meant by that. 

The first meeting between the coach and the two captains was short-lived as it was no time at all before the screams and curses and threats of hexes soon interrupted their conversation. The three of them hurried back to the pitch. The decision to have rival House members attempt to play a friendly game without supervision was not a well-conceived plan. 

It could have been a lot worse. Harry was sure if he and Draco had been there, it would have been. One glance at Malfoy told Harry, he agreed with that thought. Even so, there were as many people refusing to fly at all, as there were those on their brooms fighting over the positions.

“Well, I guess I need to assign the teams sooner rather than later,” Oliver said as he walked into the middle of the pitch. By sheer force of his will alone, he soon had everyone on the ground and standing in front of him. This didn’t surprise Harry, having been on the receiving end of that force before. Malfoy however was clearly impressed.

“Harry, you go stand over there.” Oliver pointed to the right side of the field closest to where Ravenclaw and Slytherin students usually sat. “Draco you over there,” pointing towards the usual Hufflepuff and Gryffindor side. It was a sound strategy. 

The dividing of the players into the separate sides was quick. Harry clapped and cheered for some of the ones assigned to him. For others he groaned internally and cursed his luck, but he only showed his excitement to his team. 

Neville, Dean and Hermione were on his team. Draco to the dismay of many, especially Ron, received Ron, Seamus and Parvarti. As for the Slytherins, Harry was gifted with Millicent, Theodore, Blaise and Pansy. Draco had to settle for Goyle and Daphne Greengrass. The others were dispersed in a way that Oliver had thought would bring the best results. Malfoy was pleased with the Gryffindors he’d been given; he knew they were the best Gryffindor had to offer. Harry was less pleased, only Dean brought him any joy, Hermione and Neville had made no improvement in their flying abilities since first year. As for the Slytherins he was glad for Theodore and Blaise. The other two he didn’t hold out much hope for, especially Parkinson.

The easy part done, it was now going to be up to Oliver, Harry and Malfoy to decide who they would try in what positions, in order to determine who was best for that role. Only then would the teams compete against each other for the ultimate team places. 

As it was beginning to look as if Seamus and Blaise were about to come to blows, and Neville and Theodore were standing toe to toe yelling in each other’s faces, practice for the rest of the day was cancelled. 

 

***

 

Not only did the eighth years have the new Quidditch team they were expected to participate in, they also had to attend classes and keep up with their school work. NEWT’s were required for everyone, even those who had completed them the previous year. The consensus by most, professors included, agreed that the previous year had been too traumatic for the best results. Hermione took exception to this. 

“That’s really terribly unfair. They had all last year to learn the material. Teaching it to them again is just giving them another whole extra year of review. We should be allowed to take extra classes and have extra study sessions for it to be fair,” she ranted as she stormed around the common room.

Harry and Ron groaned in dismay as did several of the other around them, but Seamus and Neville spoke up. “You weren’t here. You don’t know how little we actually learned, or were taught.”

“They’re right,” Malfoy’s voice came from just inside the doorway. Draco and Pansy were both there. “Last year was horrible, even for Slytherins. Besides Granger, I doubt if anyone, no matter how much he may have learned last year will best you.” Draco added as they came into the room. Although the eighth years remained with their original houses, they each had password clearance to all the other’s common rooms, allowing them to come and go as they pleased. It had taken a while, but eventually cross house visitation occurred regularly. Except for Slytherin and Gryffindor; this was the first time any of Salazar’s house had appeared before the fat lady. 

 

***

 

Each night, Harry fell into his bed exhausted. Age had not mellowed Oliver’s passion for the game, or his expectations. As the two captains, he drove Harry and Malfoy to demand the best from their teams. The fact that the rest of their teams could give a crooked crup’s tail if they won or not was of no concern to Oliver. 

Harry was enjoying himself too much to quit, however. He suspected the same of Malfoy. After each practice and late night meeting in Hogsmeade, Draco would look just as worn out as Harry felt when they walked back to the castle. Yet his eyes held a sparkle, which Harry was unfamiliar with, and a small smile played across his face most evenings. It was fetching. It made Harry want to know the reason for that smile. But Harry also understood that the reason belonged to Malfoy alone, which was what made it so intriguing. 

A hard worker and demanding Oliver might be, but he was also charming and funny and a ridiculous flirt. The number of pints they consumed during the meetings at the Hog’s Head determined exactly how much Oliver touched him. At first it had been distracting, then it had become pleasant, and before Harry knew it, it was downright intoxicating. He craved every touch.

Oliver was not discriminatory in his casual touches. Malfoy was a recipient as well. Only unlike Harry, Malfoy touched back. Small, intimate gestures full of meaning and innuendo, or at least that’s how it looked to Harry. It didn’t happen immediately; Malfoy kept himself aloof, but Oliver was persistent. 

It took Oliver a while to bring Malfoy out of his isolation. Once he had though, the two of them, Oliver and Malfoy, flirted with each other outrageously. Harry had no idea how to flirt. Ginny had never required him to flirt with her. He’d tried with Cho, but that had been a disaster. Besides when would he have had the time? Voldemort had taken up most of his time during those years. Harry thought it terribly unfair. 

As he watched the other two, night after night, there was a reappearance of something he thought long gone. The tug of the old chest-monster was painful, yet at the same time comfortable. It soothed him like an old t-shirt that had grown too tight, but was still worn because it brought back bittersweet memories. Moroseness settled over him and he rested his chin on the top of his hands lying across the scarred and battered table, while the other two continued talking and laughing. And touching, always touching. It was time for him to go.

He stood, or at least tried. Not realizing how much he’d drunk he stumbled. Oliver reached out to steady him, laughing as he did. “Whoa, hold on there, Harry, you might want to wait a bit.” His hand glided down Harry’s arm. An electric surge ran through Harry’s nervous system and connected directly to his cock. Embarrassed, afraid his erection would show, Harry resisted and tried to pull away. 

“I agree,” Draco said. “We should all leave together. I was thinking it might be best if we just stayed here in Hogsmeade. Rosemerta was generous enough to give Oliver the entire third floor. There’s plenty of room, isn’t there?” As Draco spoke, Oliver put his arm around Harry’s waist to keep him from leaving. And if his hand seemed to be caressing Harry’s arse, surely Harry was imaging things. He was very drunk. He had to be, to think what he was thinking. 

“I think that’s a brilliant idea. Don’t you, Harry? After all, it is Friday. There are no classes tomorrow, just another scrimmage to help decide the final positions for each team.” Oliver’s hand again brushed up and down Harry’s arm, sending shivers through him, before it reached Harry’s hand rubbing his thumb across the center of Harry’s palm. 

Panic overcame Harry. He was so bloody hard. He had to get out of here before anyone noticed. He tried to think of anything else other than the hand, calloused and so masculine, which was holding his own. 

Before he could move Oliver leaned over towards Draco, who was still sitting, and whispered something in his ear. Draco blushed and sniggered slightly. It was beautiful and sexy, and private.

Harry jerked away, feeling much like a third wheel. The two of them obviously wanted to be together; even he could recognise the signs. He’d just be in the way. He ran out of the building and began the long walk back to Hogwarts, entirely too drunk to contemplate Apparating.

Moments later, a crunching of autumn leaves alerted him to another’s presence. The war had not been over long enough for him to not be spooked by faceless strangers following him. Rogue Death Eaters still coveted the possibility of being the one to bring down Harry Potter. He drew his wand and turned to face the danger, but before he could complete the turn, he was attacked from behind. Only it wasn’t an attack. The other person was laughing, real genuine laughter, not evil or suspicious laughter. “Put your wand away Potter. You could hurt someone with that.”

He should have known. “Malfoy! What the fuck? You scared the life out of me. I could have hexed you,” he shouted, his heart beating to beat the band. He really hoped the moon wasn’t bright enough to show the redness of his face, or the smile he wore beneath his mask of irritation. 

“It’s Draco, not Malfoy,” the other one said as he fell into step next to Harry. They walked in silence, side by side, until Harry could stand it no longer. “Why are you here?”

“I’m walking back to school with you. The same as I always do. What does it look like?” Malfoy, no, Draco sounded honestly confused.

“But... I thought… I mean, you and Oliver…” he stuttered, frustrated. What if he’d been wrong? What if he’d read the signs wrong and Draco and Oliver weren’t actually wanting to be alone together. 

“I felt it more important to make sure you made it back safely. Besides, if anything happened to you, I’d have a hard time convincing the others I hadn’t done you in.”

“Done me in? The others don’t feel that way anymore.”

There was a small snort of disbelief next to him. “Oh don’t they?”

Harry shrugged. Draco was right. Ron and a few of the others were still harboring thought of evil Malfoy. Although, that number was growing smaller each day, due mostly to the fact that it was obvious Malfoy was trying. It was also becoming clearer to all that Malfoy looked on Ron as his best player. The final position he would take was still unclear. Ron was a brilliant Keeper, but this year he had expressed a strong interest in Beater, in honour of Fred.

The only one to give him any competition was Pansy. Oliver and Harry had positioned her in front of their goal and explained to her the role of Keeper. Instead she had filed her nails, paying no attention to the game. Justin from Draco’s team had taken a shot and sent the Quaffle sailing towards the goal. It had missed the goal and instead knocked the file out of Pansy’s hand. She'd screeched, “You arse! You broke my fucking fingernail.” She'd then grabbed the bat from Goyle’s hand. When the Bludger had flown by, she'd caught it with the bat and let go with all she had. Straight at Justin. Only the combined spells and charms of Oliver, Harry, and Draco had spared Justin from more extensive injuries. She had an arm on her. As it was he’d had to spend the rest of the day in the infirmary.

Once Justin was safely on his way to Madam Pomfrey, Oliver had turned, “I’m thinking, Beater.” They had just nodded. The eighth year’s first permanent position had just been decided. 

“You’re thinking about Pansy, aren’t you?” Draco said next to him.

“What? How could you know that?”

“I’ve been watching your expressions.” Harry had noticed, but they were now standing in the light of the castle. 

“Also, I knew you were thinking of Ron, and how he still doesn’t trust me. Even though, he knows I’m going to make him my first team, either Keeper or Beater, though we know he really wants to be a Beater this year. Then you started thinking of your own team, and the fact that Pansy as Beater could jeopardize Ron’s role as final Beater for the team. Or something along those lines.” 

“Ron doesn’t know you’re going to make him your first team anything. He’s afraid you’re going to choose one of your Slytherin Housemates.

“Then he’s a bigger idiot than I thought. Oh calm down,” as Harry took in a breath, ready to defend his best mate, “It’s a compliment. He’s clearly the best on my team.”

They were almost to their entrance. A second entrance into the castle had been made for the eighth years. They were all of age and felt they deserved some degree of freedom. Protected by a thick, thorny bramble that recognized the magical signature of every eighth year, no one else was allowed through, unless accompanied by an eighth year student. 

Harry lifted his wand toward the hedge. 

“Harry, wait.” Draco stopped him. “I don’t want to go in yet. I’m not tired.” 

“What do you want to do then?” Harry asked. He was tired. He was drunk and he was confused. Why hadn’t Draco stayed with Oliver? Had Harry again misread the signs?

Draco moved even closer to him. “I want to do this,” Draco said and reached his hand out cupping Harry’s chin in his hand. He held it steady and still as he leaned in and pressed his lips against Harry’s. 

“Now I’m ready. Let’s go in Harry. It’s time for bed.” Draco said as he pulled away, leaving Harry feeling a loss. 

 

***

 

Excessive weight suddenly fell on Harry’s shoulder and he turned to find Draco giggling hysterically as he used Harry’s body to hold himself upright. Laughter bubbled out of Harry as well; he had to admit if it wasn’t so tragic, it’d be pretty damned funny.

Hermione was in the air, only just, and she was chasing, if you could call it that, after the snitch. There wasn’t a lot of actual chasing though, Truth be told, it was a bit of a stretch to even call it flying. Yet, even at the mind-numbingly slow pace she was moving, Hermione was holding on for dear life.

“Oh Merlin, save me. Make it stop, please!" Draco cried with laughter, tears streaming from his eyes. “Circe’s tits, Harry, but she’s horrible. Look there’s a bird flying next to her. I think it’s going to land on her. Oh God, it is. Look, look!” He grabbed Harry’s head and turned it back towards Hermione. 

Sure enough, there was a smallish Mallard–a duck–not a bird, which had landed on Hermione’s shoulder, she moved so slowly through the air. It must have thought it a safe place to land.

From there it was just a short trip to disaster. Hermione screamed, the bird, or duck rather, flapped itself off, somehow managing to slap Hermione in the face as it did. Her hands flew up to protect her face and she lost her grip. She tumbled from the broom. As she began to fall, Harry started, terror for his friend’s safety rushing through him. His wand was in his hand in a flash. 

Luckily, Ron was only a few feet away. Even at that, it took some spectacular flying on his part to catch her before she hit, as she was only thirty feet or so above the ground. He brought her down safely and held her while she trembled, both with fear and anger, as soon became apparent. 

Now that she was safe, Harry was able to relax. Draco's hand ran soothingly across his, calming him even more. Draco turned Harry’s head towards him. Harry was sure Draco was about to kiss him. He waited, breathless.

“Right, I’m thinking that perhaps Hermione is not Seeker material,” Oliver said from behind them. Harry and Draco both spun apart. Neither of them had heard him approach. Harry wondered how long he had been there. 

“I told you I wasn’t. I told you I was afraid of flying, but did anyone listen to me? No! You just assumed that not only could I do it, but that I secretly wanted to, and had just been waiting for a chance.” Hermione was on the three of them in a flash.

They all took a step back as she continued to rant, especially at Harry. Ron was not left out of the raving either. 

“You think because I’m good at spells, which I am, that I can do this as well. Well, I bloody can’t. I hate flying. How did you not know that? I feel completely out of control, and I don’t like to be out of control.” She accioed the fallen broom to her side and promptly thrust it at Harry. “That’s it. I’m done. I hereby resign from eighth year Quidditch team and tryouts.”

“Erm, can she do that? I thought the team was required,” Ron asked and then backed away even further as she spun on him. 

“Quidditch is a dangerous sport. They can’t make you do something so potentially harmful. Not an extracurricular activity like this. I’m sure there are rules protecting the safety of students in such situations. If not, there should be.” Harry and Ron turned towards each other and frowned, sure that there was another SPEW obsession in the beginning stages. 

They turned to Oliver for confirmation. He shrugged, “I think the only rule is that everyone has to make at least one attempt. The idea is eighth year unity. There’s only going to be the one team, with just the first and second strings being expected to dress, once we actually start playing. Not everyone is going to make it. We sort of knew that going in. Didn’t we?” He turned and looked questioningly at the two captains.

They nodded, with a bit of a shrug. That was a given.

“We’ll consider Miss Granger here our first official and permanent cut. Unless you want to try for another position?” He turned to ask Hermione, who glared daggers at him before she stomped off, Ron following.

“Can one assume that’s a no then?” Draco quipped next to Harry who just grinned back at him. 

 

***

 

Draco stood and began brushing down his clothing, presumably to loosen any stray food particles that may have landed on him. Harry was pretty sure not so much as a crumb would dare to sully the perfection of Malfoy’s clothing and appearance. 

“Mate? What’s up? What are you doing?” Oliver slurred. His contract with Puddlemere United had been approved for another year. Not only that, but they had agreed to work with him regarding the practice schedules, in order to coach the eighth year Quidditch team. He was feeling fine and his alcohol consumption that evening testified to it.

“I’ve got an Arithmancy essay due in the morning. I need to get back to the castle to finish it.” Draco smiled at the other two before adding, “How about you Potter? Any last minute homework you forgot to do?”

Harry grinned, “Are you kidding, with Hermione as my best friend and taskmaster? Nope all done. Written, proofed, and even tidied of all smudged ink marks.”

Draco shook his head and sighed. “We should all have such taskmasters. I assume you’re staying for a while then.”

Harry glanced at Oliver who nodded emphatically. Harry nodded as well. It would be good to spend time with Oliver, talking strategy and what not, including the old days of Gryffindor. He wouldn’t mind another glass of ale or two, either. 

Malfoy departed, leaving Harry and Oliver alone. And Harry’s brain, the part that controlled conversation, decided to take an early and extended holiday, leaving him with no idea of what to say. 

The silence grew longer and longer. Harry grew flushed and even more anxious. He was on the verge of jumping up and running after Draco, claiming a last minute assignment he’d forgotten, when Oliver’s hand covered his. Harry looked up.

“I’m glad Draco decided to leave us alone. I’ve been wanting a chance to get to know you again,” Oliver‘s thumb lightly stroked the back of Harry’s hand The combination of the petting and the rich brogue of Oliver’s Scottish accent woke Harry’s cock, which had been resting quietly, since Malfoy’s departure.

“You have?” he stammered. “But you already know me. We were on the same team, in the same house.” 

“That’s true, but I’m sensing changes in you. Changes that tell me you’re no longer the boy you were back then.” 

“Well, a lot’s happened. So yeah, I imagine I have changed; but not that much. I still admire the same things, still want the same things,” Harry replied.

“Are you sure?” Oliver asked as he took Harry’s hand and rolled it over. His thumb rubbed small circles in the center of Harry’s palm. Harry’s cock was wide awake now, and straining through the cotton of the boxers he wore.

“Are you still mad for Cho Chang?”

Harry scowled, Cho Chang? Oliver really didn’t know him anymore, did he?

“Oh, I’m sorry. She’s from the past. I think it’s perhaps the Weasley female, Ginny, I believe Percy said her name was. Is she the one?”

Harry knew he should be nodding, knew he should be shouting his and Ginny’s forever love, to all and sundry. Yet somehow, he found he couldn’t move.

“Well?” Oliver questioned again. “Or, is there someone else? Maybe a certain Slytherin with silky blonde hair has captured your attention?”

Embarrassed that although Oliver had noticed Harry’s infatuation with Draco, never would he admit to it, not even to himself, Harry finally was able to say, “Ginny’s the one. I expect we’ll be married one day.” 

Oliver leaned back against the back of the booth studying Harry. He shot forward then and rested his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” His rich, warm brown eyes captured Harry in their gaze. Oliver no longer appeared as drunk as he had just moments before. Harry didn’t know what to say. “Have you ever been with a man?” Oliver asked outright, like he’d just asked if Harry had ever tried lasagna. 

Harry jerked back, tugging his hand from Oliver’s grip, and stood. “No, of course not. I’m not bent that way.”

“Interesting. I think there’s a part of you that might disagree, at the very least would be interested in experimenting.” Oliver nodded his head in the direction of Harry’s cock, which was, indeed, showing a great deal of interest in the possibility. 

It had to be the alcohol, Harry thought. It had to be. “I’ve got to go.” Heat flooded his face.

“Sure. No problem. I understand. Look, just forget I said anything. Unless, of course, you don’t want to forget it,” Oliver said as he stood and took Harry’s elbow in his hand. 

“What are you doing?” Harry gasped, staring at Oliver’s hand.

“I’m going to make sure you get home alright.” 

What the fuck? Why did everyone think him incapable of making it back to the castle on his own? He was 18, for fuck’s sake, not to mention that whole Voldemort thing. After all, he had been pretty instrumental in bringing about the demise of one of the evilest wizards in a really fucking long time. 

“You didn’t make sure Malfoy got home okay,” he snapped. 

“Malfoy didn’t have as much to drink as you did. Besides, I already know where Draco stands on this subject.” He led them out of the building and down the side alley, where they would Apparate to the front gates. What, if anything, would happen after that, Harry didn’t know.

“You do? I mean… where does he stand?” Harry could not stop himself from asking. 

“That’s not my place to say. I‘m sure if you ask him, he’ll be glad to share his thoughts with you.” The alley was dark, but Harry thought he heard a gleam of laughter in Oliver’s voice when he said that. 

He had to admit he was glad of Oliver’s assistance when the stomach squishing nausea ripped through him at the apparition. Oliver caught him as he stumbled. His arms tightening around him, Harry rested his head against Oliver’s chest. Woozy and dizzy, Oliver’s arms around him felt warm and embracing.

His eyes closed to steady himself, a firm clasp on his chin raised his head from Oliver’s chest. Oh, so that’s why he wanted to walk me home. 

He wasn’t bent, he wasn’t bent, the mantra repeated over and over in his head. He just wanted to know what it felt like to kiss another man. It was simply for the experience; for knowledge, that was all. Harry lived for knowledge, everyone knew that. He wasn’t sure the brief one he’d shared with Draco counted. 

Oliver’s head moved forward toward Harry’s. His lips brushed lightly against Harry’s. It was so light Harry almost could believe it hadn’t happened. Except for the touch of Oliver’s tongue as it brushed lightly across Harry’s lips before he pulled away, but still remained close enough for Harry to feel his breath on his lips.

Harry whimpered. Dear Merlin, I just whimpered.. He blushed, feeling heat flooding his face. 

Oliver just laughed and said, “There’s a lot more where that came from. All you have to do is say the word. Now can you manage the rest of the way into the castle? I think it would be best if I didn’t come any further.

Harry nodded, once, and Oliver turned and with a crack, Disapparated back to Hogsmeade. 

 

***

 

They were now three weeks into the tryouts. Most of the positions had been determined, Seeker the one still remaining open. There were a few surprises. Although Ron had performed admirably as Beater, he could not compete against Pansy or Theodore, or Draco either for that matter. As Keeper though, there was no one better than Ron. Goyle unfortunately was still too depressed over the loss of Vincent to be effective. 

Not a single eighth year student had been spared the loss of a loved one, sometimes several. It was a harsh reality of war, any war. People were killed. It was the learning how to move on they all struggled with. Healers came weekly to Hogwarts to help them work through their feelings. There had been little interest at first, but as time passed the students had begun to see the value of talking out their differences. Although often, there was more yelling and crying than talking.

With each day that passed, Draco became more relaxed and at ease around the other students. They him as well. It turned out he was an excellent captain, fair and supportive, remaining true to his word about avoiding House nepotism for the good of the team. 

The one position still left to determine was Seeker. Harry had performed admirably in his tryouts as Chaser. There was a spot for him in that position, should he choose to take it. Draco’s performance in the Beater tryouts had also guaranteed him a spot in that role as well though the thought of him and Parkinson being the team’s beaters was sort of terrifying. Harry and Draco were the two best flyers on the team and Oliver knew it. No way was he not going to allow either of them a starring role on the first string. Or so he kept reminding them.

“Why are we even bothering to have a tryout? Why don’t you just go ahead and give it to Potter. You know you’re going to.” Draco argued sounding like the Malfoy they’d known in the past. 

For the love of the Founders, why would I want to do that? Why would I give the position to Harry if he’s not the best? I only care about winning.” Oliver replied, stunned.

“It’s exhibition games only. They don’t count. Who cares about winning?” Malfoy said even more sullen, looking as if he didn’t believe a word Oliver had just said.

Oliver stood back, shocked at what Malfoy had just said. “Do not speak such blasphemy in my presence ever again. It is always about winning.” 

Their tryouts were to be just them. No other players were allowed on the Pitch. It was a contest of flying ability; speed and grace was what was called for.

Each climbed on to their brooms eager to leap into the sky, when Oliver stopped them. “By the way, there’ll be a surprise today. I can’t tell you what it is, or it wouldn’t be a surprise. Just keep your eyes open out there. Things may not be as they first appear.” He walked back to where the Snitch waited. He’d release it once they got into the air. 

As they both kicked off, Draco turned and smiled at Harry, “Scared Potter?”

“You wish Malfoy,” Harry shot back with a snort of laughter.

And it was on. 

The others watched from the stands, cheering on their personal favourite. Shouts of, “Come on Harry, you know you’re the best,” were often drowned out by cries of, “Draco, we’re behind you. Wipe his arse in the dirt!” The two of them glanced at the other and shrugged, laughing.

Unsure when Oliver was going to release the Snitch, the apprehension and anxiety were high. They flew back and forth across the pitch and then around the perimeter. Sometimes they flew separately and other times they came together and flew in tandem. First Harry was slightly in the lead, only to have their roles reversed to find him following Draco. 

The day was beautiful, a perfect day for Quidditch. There was a crispness in the air that called for gloves and scarfs if one was standing still. But motion, adrenaline and the warmth of the sun bearing down on them made it perfect for the two flyers. Scattered clouds broke the monotony of the clear blue sky.

There! Out of the corner of his right eye, Harry saw a fluttering of golden wings. The Snitch. He stretched himself out over the handle and took off. It felt fantastic, the speed; the thrill of the chase. It was brilliant!

Draco would be right behind him if not already gaining on him. He took a cautious look behind him to judge to how close Draco was, and faltered. 

Draco, not only was not behind him, he was nowhere near him, as he was speeding off in the opposite direction. What? Harry thought. What’s he doing? Surely he’s not giving up and giving this to me. I’ll kill him. Then he saw it; saw what it was that Draco was chasing, because chasing he was. Draco was flying, flat out, after another fluttering of golden wings. 

A second Snitch? How was that possible? What had Oliver done?

Then Harry recalled a late night conversation at the Hog’s Head. Oliver had told them that sometimes, certain teams, he wouldn’t say which, would try to confuse the opposition by releasing a second, and unauthorized Snitch. The trick was to be able to determine which one was true. There were always ways to tell, but the differences would vary. One could be a slighter duller gold, or the opposite, exceptionally shiny. Other times the wings might be located off balance or perhaps flutter at an awkward speed. The speed and rhythm could be okay except for a slight hitch, which only careful observation would show. The seeker had to be observant and not get caught chasing after the wrong one, plus remaining in competition with the opposing Seeker to catch the legitimate Snitch. 

Harry hesitated for just a split second, determining if he was chasing a decoy or the real Snitch. He focused his full attention, not only on the trajectory of the flying golden object, but its colour and shape and wing rhythm as well.

He’d about decided that this one was the deco. The brilliance of the gold was a bit too bright, when he felt the approach of another flyer. 

“Oliver Wood is a bona fide arse!” Draco shouted as he came closer.

“What are you doing?” Harry called back.

“Mine was the decoy. This is the real one.” Draco was right next to him, matching him easily for speed.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. The wings on its right side weren’t centered properly."

“But this one’s the wrong colour, the gold isn’t right,” Harry hollered as he followed followed? Draco between two of the posts that surrounded the field.

“What? Are you positive? Come on Potter, your eyesight is really bad, everyone knows that. Maybe you just saw it in the sunlight.” Now it was Draco’s turn to follow as Harry had suddenly pointed his broom towards the ground, the Snitch still in sight.

There was a sudden gasp of surprise and the stands erupted into a frenzy of confusion and shouting. 

“Wait. Listen,” he said and Draco pulled up beside him. Neither of them slowed their speed by much, but they were not longer flying pell-mell into the wind.

“There’s a third Snitch!” Ron’s voice came loud and strong, and surprised. At the same time there was also a high-pitched voice that belonged to Millicent; for being such a healthy size she had an amazingly little girl’s voice. She was shouting the same thing. There was a third Snitch.

The two of them turned on a Knut, side by side. If it wasn’t a competition, Harry was sure it would be in perfect symmetry. But it was, and he wanted to win. The thought of being a Chaser was no longer acceptable to him. Seeker was in his blood. 

He looked to his right, and there it was. There was not a shred of doubt. This was the Snitch. 

Draco recognised it as well. His face lighting up like the fireworks on Guy Fawkes Day, he winked in Harry’s direction and shouted, “See you in the loser’s circle,” and took off.

Harry charged after him shouting, “That’s right, cos that’s where you’re going to be -- the loser’s circle.” 

 

***

 

It was over. Draco had won. Fair and square, as well. No cheating, just fantastic flying had won the day. It had not been by much, Harry’s fingers a knuckle length behind Malfoy’s as they closed over the Snitch, but it was enough. 

Harry fully expected Draco to flaunt the win in his face. A graceful winner he wasn’t, or at least he’d not been in the past. Then again, losing had not been Harry’s strong point either. Now he was just glad he’d been able to keep up as well as he had.

They were currently sitting side by side at a booth in the Three Broomsticks. Oliver had been sitting across from them, but had had to leave. He had a Fire-call meeting with the manager of one of the teams he was trying to arrange a match with.

An overabundant consumption of alcohol curtailed Harry's desire to move. Malfoy as well seemed quite settled. If the head that had just plopped onto Harry’s shoulder was any indication, Draco was as pissed as he was.

“Hey, Potter?” Draco snickered in his ear.

Harry rolled his eyes, barely managing not to snort. He knew what was coming, but played along anyway. “Yes, Malfoy?”

“I won. Did you hear? I beat you. I got the Snitch before you did.”

“I know. I was there. Is the revenge as sweet as you thought it would be?” He breathed in deeply, wanting to remember this moment for a really long time, if not forever. 

Draco’s scent surrounded him. And like the man himself, it was a combination of sharpness, bitterness, and spicy heat. Underneath it all a hint of freshness that spoke of the innocence, even after all he’d seen and done, that still existed, a part of Draco seldom shown. 

Harry sneezed unexpectedly, as Draco’s hair had tickled his nose. Okay so maybe while breathing in Draco’s scent, he may have also placed a kiss on the soft and silky hair. The static electricity from the woolen cap he’d worn that evening had caused it to stand on end.

“Are you quite through, mauling my hair? I’d like to answer that,” Draco said, butting his head and thus his hair against Harry’s nose and mouth, again sending typical Malfoy conflicting messages.

“So was it?” Harry asked again.

“Not as sweet as I would have thought, or as it would have been, back when I still hated you. It’s still feels pretty Brilliant!” he all but shouted. When the other patrons shushed him, he turned pink and did not speak for a while. 

He’d suspected that maybe Draco didn’t hate him anymore but hearing the words made Harry inexplicably happy. He soaked up the silence. It lasted for about two minutes or less.

“Hey, Harry. You know what?” Draco had lowered his voice. Thank Merlin for small favours.

“Yes, Draco. I heard. You won.” 

“No, not that. I think that subject has been adequately covered.”

I doubt it, Harry thought, but felt it the better course of wisdom to remain mute.

“I think I’m drunk. No, that’s not true. I’m definitely drunk. Do you want to know how I know I’m drunk?” he asked as he moved his head off Harry’s shoulder.

Harry felt the loss until he turned to see Draco’s face moving closer and closer to his. “Erm, no, I mean yes. How do you know you’re drunk?”

“Cos, I want to kiss you, but that’s not all. I always want to kiss you. Did you know you have absolutely the most kissable, delectable lips in the history of lips?”

Harry doubted that, as the lips coming towards him were soft, full, perfectly shaped and clearly the most kissable lips in history. “So, what else?” he whimpered, his voice cracking with a high squeak. 

At Draco’s look of confusion, he quickly said, “You said that wasn’t all,” Malfoy drunk had the attention span of Seamus. “You said that you always wanted to kiss me.” Then why don’t you? Again he chose not to say what he was thinking. Maybe his Slytherin side was rising to take control, as he seemed to be doing more thinking than doing. 

“Oh that. I am going to kiss you. No more talking. I’m all about the doing. It’s a very Gryffindor thing to do, don’t you think? I’ve may have been hanging around you and Oliver too much. Can hanging around with people from other Houses change a person like that? I don’t know. I’ve never hung around other Houses before.” He stopped, aghast, and grabbed Harry’s shirt. Harry waited breathless for the kiss he thought was coming. “Please, Merlin, Potter stop me, if I start hanging out with the Hufflepuffs.”

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes, “Malfoy, I’m seeing and hearing a lot of talking about doing, but as of yet, there has been absolutely no doing, or kissing either, for that matter,” muttering that last under his breath.

“Remember, I told you it was Draco,” Draco said as he stared at Harry, a small smile playing across his face. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

If you don’t I may have to hex you, Harry thought but he only said the one word. “Yes.”

It was a perfect kiss as Harry had known it would be. A different time and place, he’d want more, but it was enough for now, and for the Three Broomsticks, in the middle of the dinner hour.

“Are you too drunk to get home? Because, I think I may be,” Draco asked as he laid his head on Harry’s shoulder again.

“Yeah, I am. Too drunk, that is. I’d probably fall, knock you over as I fell and do damage to us both, and then your lot would accuse me of injuring you so I could have the Seeker spot.”

“That would be a very Slytherin thing of you to do. I don’t know that you could.”

“So you can be Gryffindor-like, but I can’t be Slytherin. That’s hardly fair,” Harry said. “Besides, I already turned down the Sorting Hat’s offer of Slytherin. So clearly, I’m capable.”

“Did not! You take that back!”

“Did too.” Harry grinned at Draco who looked astounded at the thought. 

Then with another quick change of focus, Draco said, “And Apparating would be out of the question. I would imagine.”

Harry snorted, “Definitely.”

“Do you think the rumour that Muggles have about black coffee is true?” Draco asked. "I need some serious sobering. Is the room spinning or it just me?”

“Which direction?” Harry asked and then answered the first question. “I don’t know. It’s in all the Muggle movies. Should we try it?"

Draco lifted his head and scowled at Harry, “Which direction what? Ooh, you mean the room.” He nodded his head as if to confirm what he had just said. Draco paused and looked straight ahead, frowning with concentration, his head lolling a bit as he did. “Clockwise. It’s moving clockwise,” he stated firmly. “And yes I think we should have a cup of this establishment’s finest coffee.”

“It’s just you. My room is spinning anticlockwise," Harry said as he gently pushed Draco aside. He stumbled to the counter where he ordered two large coffees, black with a shot of both cinnamon and vanilla. Just the way Draco liked it.

Some twenty minutes later Draco’s cup was empty and Harry’s about half done as well. They were debating if a second cup was needed. Harry still felt a slight buzz, a happy buzz, but if needed he could see them safely back to Hogwarts. Draco, on the other hand…

Making the decision that Draco needed another, Harry stood and manouvered himself out of the booth again. 

“Potter, I mean, Harry. Wait.” Draco grabbed his wrist and held it.

Harry stopped and turned.

“I don’t want another cup of coffee. I don’t want to be sober, at least not completely sober. Because then I wouldn’t be able to say this.”

Harry waited, confused, wondering where this was headed.

“I don’t want to go back to Hogwarts tonight. I want to spend tonight with you.” Draco leaned up towards Harry. “I want more kissing, more touching. More you.”

Harry looked around the restaurant. It had cleared out some, but there were still a lot of families enjoying their evening meal. “Erm,”

“I’ve got a key to Oliver’s room. We could go there. I don’t think he’d mind.”

The chest-monster, hot and angry surged through Harry. Why did Draco have a key to Oliver’s room?

“He gave it to me one morning. He said I could use it anytime I wanted, and was welcome to bring you as well.” Draco explained as if Harry had spoken out loud. 

“Where was I when this offer of rooming was made?” Not caring at all how petulant he sounded. 

“I imagine you were still in bed asleep. It was really early. We’d only just woken ourselves.”

A war of emotions exploded within Harry. Anger, jealousy, hurt, disappointment, lust, desire, want; all of them were separate armies in the battle. Jealousy being the strongest of them all. “So did you fuck him?” then he winced as his voice was louder than he’d expected it to be. Others around him gasped and hurriedly began to gather their children around them preparing to leave.

Draco at least had the decency to blush, but then a slow and seductive smile grew on his face as the hand that still circled Harry’s wrist pulled him back down next to him. “Actually, I was more the fuckee, not the fucker, but I’m willing to assume any role you want me to take.” His voice was low, the timbre going straight to Harry’s cock.

Okay, so maybe jealousy wasn’t as strong a competitor as he’d thought it was. Lust was making a strong bid for the position. He looked at those lips again. Imagined them opening under Harry’s mouth. The taste of Draco as Harry’s tongue ravished him, the feel of Draco’s tongue against his. That mouth wrapped around his cock. The fingers that held his wrist, caressing his balls and stoking him, bringing him pleasure beyond thought. The pad of Draco’s thumb rubbed softly over Harry’s skin, making him envision how it would feel rubbing over his nipple. The desire in Draco’s eyes echoed Harry’s own passion. 

He didn’t think any longer, just grabbed Draco by the hand and pulled him towards the door.

“What about the bill?” Draco yelped.

“It can go on Oliver’s tab. That’s the least he can do.”  
***

 

Soft lips kissed along his jawline, then the sharp sting of small nips down the side of his neck woke Harry.

Malfoy was insatiable. They could only have been asleep an hour or less even. The shagging had been bloody fantastic. He’d been nervous at first, but Draco had taken him in hand, quite literally, and shown him exactly what he needed. From the sounds Draco had made, he’d done alright. At least Draco had had no complaints. 

Fingers danced along the inside of his thighs as they moved toward his balls. Moaning, he spread his legs, giving Draco complete access. He could probably come just from the memory of the blowjob Draco had given him the night before. Warm breathed huffed over his balls, followed by a tongue swirling around and between them. 

“Mmmh,” Harry moaned, “that feels bloody fantastic, Draco.”

“I’m glad you think so, but I’m not the one you should be complimenting.” Draco’s voice, and therefore his mouth, was right next to Harry’s ear. The sharp nips, this time along the edge of his jaw, began again. 

Hold on? Harry’s sleep fogged brain interrupted, if Draco is nibbling on my jaw, who‘s that sucking on my balls? Feel nice, though, he hummed his appreciation. Realisation struck, and he shot to a sitting position, eyes opened wide. 

Oliver grinned up at him from between his legs. “Hi Harry. I hope you don’t mind me being here. I’ve wanted to do this for ages,” Oliver murmured and then lowered his head and sucked the tip of Harry’s cock into his mouth. 

Momentarily terrified and confused, he stared at Draco who had unlatched himself from his neck. Draco looked at him, smiling. “Relax Harry, it’s alright. Oliver and I both want you. Do you want us?”

Harry thought for about half a second before he came to his senses. What was he doing wasting time thinking? The answer, of course, was a resounding. Yes! He’d wanted them both, each of them, for, so long. A desire he’d resisted admitting, until last night. He nodded rapidly.

Draco leaned in and kissed him, then whispered, “Then just sit back and enjoy the ride. Until you’re ready to take a more active role.”

Oliver’s mouth again descended on Harry’s cock, his tongue doing wicked things to him as it did. The remembered taste and feel of Draco’s cock filled Harry’s mouth with saliva. He pulled Draco back into another kiss. Draco’s mouth opened to his, their tongues reaching out to each other’s. Draco’s tongue curled around his and sucked it into his mouth, while Oliver’s wrapped around his cock and sucked that into his mouth. Oliver’s fingers stroked his balls, and the area behind them. Harry’s hips began to thrust imperceptibly. Draco gently broke the kiss. With a, “Shh, shh, relax,” he pushed Harry down on his back, following with open-mouthed kisses along Harry’s chest.

Oliver pushed Harry's legs up until Harry’s feet were flat on the bed, and gently pushed his knees down on each side. He was fully exposed, as Oliver’s fingers continued to explore and caress him. 

Beyond thought, it was all just sensation. Draco continued kissing and sucking his chest, his neck, his nipples, along the top of his shoulders, along the muscles of his biceps, even under his arm, licking the hair that grew there, causing Harry to squirm with laughter. Everywhere his mouth could reach. Oliver’s fingers moved further back circling Harry’s hole as he hummed around Harry’s cock. 

Draco’s tongue circled his right nipple, the tip of it getting ever closer to the nub. The flat of his tongue then licked across the top of his nipple, making it impossibly rigid. He caught the hard nub into his teeth and tugged on it. Harry bowed up off the bed. “Ow, fuck, Draco, that hurt,” he protested as he pulled Draco’s head over onto his other nipple, arching up for Draco’s mouth to reach him, wanting more of that sharp pleasure pain. 

“Did it now?” Draco snarked as he licked a swipe against that one. All the while, the other nipple was rolled and tweaked between his fingers. Harry’s flesh pebbled as Draco took the recently adopted nub into his mouth and sucked.

Between his thighs, Oliver’s gentle circling was becoming more insistent and focused, moving ever closer to Harry’s opening. Harry tensed; he wasn’t sure about this. The tip of Oliver’s finger pressed against Harry, just barely resting at the entrance. Oliver’s mouth sucked Harry’s cock deep into his throat, Harry’s cock hitting the back of Oliver’s throat. Harry marvelled that Oliver wasn’t gagging. As Oliver’s finger continued its insistent exploration, Draco’s teeth tugged at his nipple again. Harry could no longer hold it back. His orgasm started in the core of his being and built like a slow eruption before it tore through him. He threw his head back, his mouth open wide enough to howl like a werewolf under the effects of a full moon, but he made not a sound. 

Spent, he sank into the tangle of sheets. Oliver crawled up Harry’s body as Draco rose up on his own knees. The two of them met over Harry in a breathless kiss. He watched though half-lidded eyes, his heartbeat returning to normal. This was not a first time kiss he was seeing. This was a kiss between two people who knew one another, had done this before, and had enjoyed it enough to want to do it again. 

Oliver’s hand roamed across Draco’s back, pulling him even closer. Draco, for his part, all but climbed across Harry to reach Oliver. Oliver stopped him with his hand, holding him in place, as he bent to Harry’s’ mouth. The taste of his own come still lingered in Oliver’s mouth and on his tongue. The thought of how Draco had received the full taste of his come inexplicably had Harry’s cock twitching with interest again. He would not have thought it possible. 

Oliver raised his head, again reached out to Draco, and pulled him across Harry. They tumbled together on the other side of where Harry lay, nudging at him to budge over. He rolled over to his side content to watch and listen as the sounds of their love-making grew.

Draco rolled over onto his stomach, his knees pulled up under him. His head was turned in Harry’s direction, resting on the mattress and his arse in the air. His eyes fluttered open and he looked in Harry’s direction, but he doubted Draco saw him before they drifted closed again. Oliver had crawled between Draco’s legs, his hand stroking Draco’s back, while Draco purred like a kitten. As Oliver followed the path of his hands with his tongue, and his teeth nipping along Draco’s spine, the purring became guttural.

Oliver moved down Draco’s back, taking hold of the two halves of Draco’s arse. He held them apart, and licked between them, following the lines of Draco’s crack with his tongue. It was simultaneously the hottest and ickiest thing Harry had ever seen. He must have made a face, as Oliver lifted his head and looking directly at Harry, winked at him.

“You might want to pay attention. I promise you; this will serve you well in the years to come.”

Oliver lowered his head and took Draco’s arse in his hands and spread the cheeks wide. He began to circle his tongue around Draco’s opening. The sounds that emerged from deep inside Draco were completely decadent, reminding Harry of a whore he’d once heard while wandering the back alleys of England during the summer after fifth year. But where those noises had sounded deceptive and false, these were honest. 

Harry moved closer, wanting to hear more, wanting to see more, wanting to smell, to taste. He wanted to be the cause of those sounds coming from Draco. It was paramount that Draco made those noises for Harry. Not realising, he’d done so, he shoved Oliver to the side, lowering his head to Draco. His tongue licked along Draco’s crack, just as he’d seen Oliver. And there it was, Draco whimpered, and thrust his arse further back towards Harry’s mouth. That was all it took, he took hold of the two halves of Draco’s arse and held them apart while he sucked and licked and circled with his tongue the dusty pink hole, needing no further instruction. The entrance loosened and opened, allowing Harry’s tongue to press past that stubborn ring of muscle that had endeavored to keep him out. He rolled his tongue to point and stabbed with it into the furled opening, tasting even more of Draco. 

How he had thought the act of rimming disgusting, Harry couldn’t imagine. This wasn’t icky; this was wonderful; this was ambrosia. Draco writhed on the bed, moaning and whimpering, begging. “More. Please. Oh gods, Oliver. Fuck. Harder.” Not realising it was Harry that was doing this, Harry that was devouring his arse, Harry that was driving him crazy with need.

Oliver nudged him. Sure that Oliver was going to tell him to back the fuck away, this gorgeous arse was his, Harry determined to stand his ground. He was going nowhere. Instead, Oliver lifted Harry’s face from between Draco’s arse and kissed him, his tongue reaching in, searching and exploring every bit of Harry’s mouth. They shared the taste of Draco between them, each moaning in appreciation at the blending of Draco’s’ arse, Harry’s come, traces of which were still on Oliver’s tongue, and the breath mint Harry had snuck from the roll on the night table. He couldn’t believe anything could ever taste this decadent. 

Harry wanted more of it. He wrapped his arms around Oliver, pulling him closer. His mouth opened, sucking Oliver’s tongue in his mouth. Until Draco whimpered, reminding Harry he was still there and his arse was still Harry’s. Oliver moved away and Harry again lowered his head to Draco’s puckered opening, fascinated to see it pulsing from the attention he’d previously given it, and it obviously wanted more. Draco’s taste was heady, rich and full bodied. Harry's tongue searched deeper and deeper, wanting more of the taste. He breathed in deeply to preserve the scent to his memory, fully aware of the connection between taste and smell.

The sounds Draco made lodged in his memory as well. Those noises would serve as Harry’s wank soundtrack in the months and years to come. When he was old and grey and suffering from the same sort of penis malfunction as his Uncle Vernon had, (some things Harry really regretted overhearing) he’d only have to remember this taste, these sounds, and the sight of Draco’s gorgeous arse spread open in front of him and desperate for his tongue, to be fully functioning again.

Harry’s own knees were pressed forward under him. Hands gripped his buttocks, holding them apart as Harry held Draco’s. He trembled in anticipation just before Oliver’s mouth sucked at his hole. Oliver’s hand reached forward and pulled Harry’s hand along towards Draco’s cock. Precome that Harry had so delighted in just last night was leaking from the slit. He rubbed his thumb across it, as Oliver wrapped his hand around Harry’s. Draco’s come soon coated their entwined fingers.

 

***

 

Oliver waved at Aberforth to come and wipe down their table. Once he had done, Oliver pulled a large scroll from out of his bag and laid it on the table. He motioned for Harry and Draco to gather close.

“Okay, I’m trying to get a schedule determined. I’d like for us to be able to have at least four matches away and four matches here at Hogwarts. I’m not sure if we’ll be able to manage all that. Professor McGonagall is balking at the idea. Also teams willing to play in exhibition games might be difficult to find.”

“Why? Are they afraid we will beat them?” Draco asked.

“Well yes, but that’s not the main reason. They don’t want to take a chance on one of their star players suffering an injury in a match that won’t count in the standings. Plus, think how embarrassing it would be for a World Quidditch League team to lose to a bunch of school-aged wizards,” he laughed.

“What’s the plan then? Who are we going to play? What’s the point of having a team, two teams to be specific, if there’s no competition?” Harry asked.

Draco interrupted, before Oliver had responded. “What about other Wizarding schools. Are any of them interested?”

“Perhaps. You have to remember though; they don’t have an eighth year team. They don’t even have an eighth year. Hogwarts is the only school where this is even possible.” 

“Again, I repeat,” Harry said as he poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice and buttered a scone. He’d overslept and not had time for his usual massive breakfast. The three of them had stayed late, or early, in Oliver’s room the night before. He and Draco had crawled through the bramble hedge at around 2 a. m. “What’s the plan then?” 

“There are some semi-pro and Wizarding Uni teams I’m thinking of contacting. They’re sort of far away and that’s part of the problem. Traveling between Hogwarts and them could be problematic.”

“But could it work?” Draco asked as he added even more sugar to his tea.

Harry shuddered at the ache in his teeth just thinking of all that sweetness. Treacle tart was fine, but not all that in one’s morning tea. 

“Maybe we’d have to arrange for Portkeys for the entire team. There’s a team in Canada, one in America, two in Australia, two in India. Those are the six that have expressed the strongest interest. There have also been some inquiries from a team in Argentina and another in Madagascar. It will require a lot of traveling and will obviously take time away from your lessons. Those wanting to travel will have to be able to keep up.”

“Will the other teams be willing to travel here?” 

“Knowledge of what happened here this past year and the outcome of the war is known in Canada, India and Australia. They are all very interested in having the chance to maybe play against the students which fought and helped win the war, especially Harry.” 

“But, he’s the second string Seeker. Will they still be interested once they know that it will be me, the son of a former Death Eater, they’ll be going up against?” Draco queried. Harry could hear the disappointment in his voice. “I’d be willing to go back to second string, if you think that will help.” Draco tore his toast corners into bits and tossed them across the table at Harry. “I’ll know I won, and so will he. Won’t you Potter?” Draco smirked at Harry, but Harry knew although Draco jested, this was causing him some discomfort. 

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Oliver replied. “You won fair and square. I’m pretty sure having a chance to fly against the one person who bested Harry Potter will be just as great an incentive. First though, we have to convince McGonagall to let fourteen student off campus long enough to compete.”

Oliver and Draco both turned to Harry. “That’ll be your job.” 

“Me?” he squeaked. “Why me?”

“Because you’re her favourite Gryffindor,” replied Oliver as Draco said, “That’s one of the perks of being the hero.”

“Doesn’t seem like much of a perk, more like a punishment,” Harry grumbled.

“Well, there you have it. Next time, you’ll think before you go off and save the world,” Draco teased then leaned in and kissed him, not caring who might see. “No, you won’t, you’ll always do the heroic thing.”

“What about me? What can I do?’ Draco asked turning back around to Oliver. 

Oliver looked steadily at him. “Go a bit easier on the rest of the team, I hear you teasing and being your natural 'charming' self. Don’t create any more drama with the Gryffindors, or Hufflepuffs for that matter. This is a Hogwarts’s team; we don’t need your constant cutting criticisms.”

Draco started to object; then seemed to think better of it, twisting his mouth into a smirk. “Sometimes it’s just too easy,” was all he said.

“The logical thing and what might persuade the Headmistress, is for us to travel to the two matches in Australia and the two in India. Hopefully the other teams will be willing to come to us. That will minimize the amount of traveling. I‘ll arrange another Fire-call and maybe even a conference one. Try to determine if they’re at least up for negotiation,” Oliver said as he stood.

He looked at his watch. “Don’t you two have Runes this morning?” At their nod he said, “Well it starts in ten minutes. I suggest you hop to it.”

“Oh fuck!” They jumped up from the table and ran out to the alley. Draco grabbed Harry’s arm and Apparated them to the front gate. They sprinted the rest of the way to the classroom, accioing their book bags and school robes as they did.

 

***

 

“I’ve bad news,” Oliver said the moment he entered the room. Then let out a snort of surprise. “Oi! You couldn’t wait?”

Harry and Draco looked up from where they were snogging on the sofa they’d transfigured from the working desk. 

Draco blushed and Harry simply shrugged, neither making any movement to separate. “Didn’t have a good reason to, weren’t aware this was a three at a time or nothing sort of arrangement. What’s the news?” Harry asked. 

“McGonagall refuses to let you travel. All your matches will have to be here.”

“We’re of age. She can’t stop us,” Draco huffed as extracted himself from Harry’s arms. Harry pouted, mourning the loss. 

“That’s true, to a point. As long as you’re students at Hogwarts, the school and McGonagall as Head, has the final authority. There’s nothing we can do about that.” He took hold the hem of his shirt and pulled it up and over his head. Indistinguishable words came from underneath. 

“Sorry? What was that?” Harry questioned. Draco shrugged, just as lost, at Harry’s questioning look. 

The shirt now lay in the corner where Oliver had tossed it. “I said that’s not all the bad news. None of the other teams we thought might be willing to come here are. Willing, that is. Their reasoning and excuses vary, but the final answer is no.” He unfastened his trousers pulling them off and chucked them into the corner, where they joined his shirt. 

Harry and Draco, both fully dressed, albeit a bit disheveled, chuckled at Oliver’s presumptiveness. “What are you doing?” Harry asked. As Draco questioned, “So who are we supposed to play? Has this been a complete waste of time?”

Oliver tucked his thumbs into his pants and discarded them as well. Naked and fit, and completely at ease, he stood in front of them. Oliver’s prick, dusty pink and gorgeous, was hard and rigid in the curl of dark brown hair at his groin. Harry stared at the sight, swallowing hard. Next to him, Draco licked his lips as if he could hardly wait to taste what was on offer. 

“I’ve been hard as fuck, all morning, just thinking about being in here with the two of you. I walk in and find you snogging each other like you just learned how. I’m--”

Draco snickered, interrupting what he was about to say, “Well, when it comes to snogging boys, or rather, men, Potter here is a bit like a virgin.” 

Harry deciding to play along began to sing, “Like a virgin, touched for the very first time, like a virgin, ooh,” standing and dancing around the room, and rubbing up against Draco and Oliver. He then broke up in laughter at the looks on their faces. He felt so free and comfortable with them. After all when you’ve had your tongue in someone’s arse, you tended to lose any inhibitions you might once have had. 

He was prepared to sing another verse, when Oliver stopped him. “Bloody hell, now I’m really ready to fuck.” A flick of his wand and a muttered spell --Harry was unfamiliar with, but planned on learning as soon as he could-- and the other two were as naked as Oliver.

“One of these days, I’m going to take the time to undress each of you the old-fashioned way, just not today.” He winked and then smiled slow and easy at them, raised both arms, motioning with a finger from each hand for them to come to him. They did, of course. He wrapped his arms around them, kissing first Harry and then Draco. His hands roaming over the body of the one he wasn’t kissing at the moment.

Oliver deepened his kiss with Draco, removing his arm from around Harry as he did. Gently pushing him down to his knees Oliver guided Harry’s mouth to his cock. Harry lowered his mouth onto Oliver’s cock, inhaled his scent as he did. His hand cupped Oliver’s balls and rolled them across the palm of his hand, and along the tips of his fingers. 

Over his head, the kiss Oliver and Draco shared was loud and wanton. Draco’s mewling whimper brought Harry’s attention upward. Draco’s head was tilted back as Oliver’s head was bent forward, running his tongue and the edge of his teeth along Draco’s clavicle and Adam's apple. Oliver adjusted his stance, spreading his feet and bending his knees slightly. Harry nestled between them, his concentration again returning to the taste and feel of Oliver’s cock in his mouth. Draco was nudged closer, while Oliver’s hand, twisted in Harry’s hair, pulled at him. Without question, Harry knew what he wanted. 

Draco’s cock, like Oliver’s, was now just inches from Harry’s mouth. Harry sucked, first one and then the other, the taste of their precome mixing on his tongue.

Draco’s hips bucked forward and then pulled back. Surprised, for it was a rare thing when Draco backed away from having his cock sucked. Then Harry understood when Draco thrust back into his mouth and then bucked back into Oliver’s hand. Oliver had wasted no time. His hand, the one not guiding Harry’s head, had already reached Draco’s arse and his finger was pressing into Draco’s hole. 

Harry had a brilliant thought: if Draco could get sucked and fingered at the same time, why not Oliver? His mouth still on Oliver, Harry took the hand that was fondling Draco, stopping only to long enough to gather some of the precome that leaked from Draco’s cock. He moved that hand over to Oliver and stroked the tender skin of the perineum, rubbed behind the balls, hanging low and full, using Draco’s precome to ease the way. It wasn’t going to be enough though. Harry raised his hand to this mouth and sucked, first his middle finger and then his pointer into his mouth, coating them with his saliva until they were fairly dripping. 

His middle finger slid easily into Oliver’s entrance, moving it in and out a few times, gently fucking Oliver with it. Harry alternated sucking Draco and then Oliver, each deep into his throat, each time adjusting his mouth and jaw to their different sizes and shapes. A second finger was added, and Harry flexed and scissored them. Oliver’s motions soon mimicked Draco. Each of them bucked forward into his mouth. He tried to fit his mouth around both of them, wanting the taste and feel of them together, but couldn’t quite manage it. 

Instead they kept popping out, one at a time or both, and slapping him along the side of his mouth, and cheek. Once, Draco thrust fairly forcefully just as his cock popped out, resulting in a resounding smack on Harry’s cheek. When he slapped at it, in annoyance, Draco got so tickled he almost fell over. Luckily Oliver's fingers, still in him, kept him upright. 

Harry’s cock begged to be touched and cliché as it sounded–even in his own head—it fairly wept with the desire. For not the first time he wished he had third hand, but it didn’t matter. He could wait.

Draco’s breathing was harsh and rapid; his thrusting had grown more sporadic. Oliver loosened his grip from Harry’s head. Sensing Draco was near, Harry moved his mouth from Oliver’s cock just managing to get his lips around Draco. Harry held firm to Draco’s arse while he bucked into Harry’s mouth. His come surged from him, pulsing down Harry’s throat, bitter and vinegary and with a faint taste of salt. Oliver held Harry’s head, keeping him virtually immobile until Draco had finished, Harry licking him clean once he had. Finally, it became too much for Draco. Between the two of them, they managed to get Oliver to loosen his hold on Harry’s head. 

Harry pulled his mouth from Draco’s softening cock. Oliver’s thighs, hard and muscled, pressed against Harry’s hands still holding firm to Draco’s arse. Oliver drew his fingers out and with a smooth thrust embedded his cock in Draco’s arse. Harry yanked his hands away, and leaned back, running his tongue across his lips being sure he caught every smear. 

Merlin that was hot, but he was still hard. Draco’s knees were bent and he was bent at the waist. His hands scrambled for balance, gripping Harry’s shoulders as Oliver pounded into him. Harry was sure they would show bruises by the day’s end.

Harry squared them and his back, holding his balance for Draco. He took his own cock in hand and stroked his hand, hard up and down over his prick, rubbing the pad of his thumb over his slit. He alternated watching Oliver’s prick sliding in Draco’s hole still dripping with the excess lube that Oliver had found and used from somewhere--somehow Harry had missed that--and staring at his own cock as it disappeared in and out of his own hand. 

Draco lifted his head and opened his eyes. “Don’t you dare, Harry. That cock is mine,” he murmured then moaned as Oliver’s cock slid in and out of his arse.

“And the arse is mine,” Oliver added claiming his part promptly. 

A short while later Harry came down Draco’s throat as Oliver’s tongue stabbed and licked and sucked at his arse. They collapsed into a heap.

“In answer to Draco’s question about whom we’re going to play? We’re to play the other Hogwarts teams.” Oliver returned to their original discussion. They’d managed to make it to the bed, and were resting quietly. 

“What? That’s not fair to them or us. And it will destroy the House Quidditch competition,” Harry interrupted

Oliver shrugged and in his best Minerva McGonagall voice said, “‘Mr. Wood, the purpose of the eighth year team is to bring unity to those students who suffered through some of the worst House rivalry Hogwarts has been through for at least the past twenty five years. Only during the first Voldemort war which resulted in the death of so many, had there been a worst rivalry. If you think I care about winning or losing or a House cup, you are greatly mistaken.’ And then she smiled her Head-of-House smile and said, ‘Gryffindor will win the house cup this year.’ ”

“Of course, I immediately explained that she obviously did not know me or Harry or Draco or Ron or Pansy or any of the other students she’d spent the last seven plus years teaching if she thought just being able 'to play.,'” Oliver’s fingers forming air quotes as the said those last words, “was enough to satisfy us. She was greatly mistaken.”

“‘Be that as it may, my students are still not traveling out of the area to play Quidditch. Not as long as I am responsible for their well-being.’ Only, when she got to the door she did say something about regretting that the other teams would not come to us.”

“What’s happened? That doesn’t sound a bit like the Professor McGonagall, I know. The war sure changed a lot of things, Professors included.” Harry shook his head in bafflement. 

Oliver nodded his agreement. 

 

***

 

The 8th year team had worked too hard to come together as an actual team not to fight McGonagall’s decision. A team meeting was called. Everyone was expected to attend, including those that were not on the team. Over the past few months, they had managed to accomplish the impossible. They would not go down without doing all they could.

An hour later the meeting ended. Every student was expected to send an owl to their families: parents, grandparents, godparents, aunts and uncles, as well as neighbors, anyone and everyone they knew, explaining the situation. As eighteen year olds they were considered adults in both the Wizard and Muggle worlds. As a result, they were expected to be treated as such and act as such as well. Whinging was not allowed. 

Less than twenty four hours later the responses began to pour in. Fire-calls, owls, and a few Howlers as well, all enraged at Hogwarts and particularly Headmistress McGonagall for not allowing the students this opportunity to play teams outside of Hogwarts. The Howler from Molly and Arthur Weasley included her incensed yelling at the school for being completely unfair, along with his plea that if something like this had been in play years ago, then just maybe, their Fred and many others might still be with them today. 

It was this plea more than any others that nearly sealed the deal. There was one more. 

The final plea came from a silvery egret. When it appeared, Draco’s face lit up with pure happiness and joy. “That’s my mother’s Patronus.” Harry soon recognized the voice of Narcissa Malfoy. She made an impassioned plea, stating that the chance to travel together could perhaps form wizarding bonds that would keep this group of students, if not friends, at the very least comrades for the years to come. She and her husband and others like them had almost destroyed their children and thus the future. That should never be allowed to happen again. She strongly supported the 8th year’s team being allowed to travel. 

It was done. McGonagall relaxed the restrictions, but only a little. They would be allowed one away game. That was all. It had to be somewhere with a strong international security, plus supportive of the British government. Wizards or not, they were still British citizens.

Long and late night negotiations took place with Oliver making almost all of the arrangements. The Magpies were chosen as the team they would play, and Moosehead Canada their destination.

The final teams had been decided. Only the first and second teams would be allowed to travel to Moosehead. Headmistress McGonagall was not willing to allow the other students, no matter how much everyone protested. The first team consisted of: Keeper, Ron Weasley; Beaters, Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott.; Chasers: Parvarti Patel, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Harry Potter; Seeker, Draco Malfoy. The substitutes: Blaise, Terry Boot, Seamus, Dean, and Lisa Turpin she also allowed, but just barely. If there had been any issues with any of their school work, they would not have been able to participate. As they were to play exhibition games only, they didn’t think the break from regulation Quidditch rules would be a problem. 

 

***

 

The match with the Magpies was scheduled but would not take place until after the Christmas holidays. In the meantime, they had the Hogwarts House teams to play. These games didn’t count in the cup standings, but were the cause of either celebration or despair. Luckily for them, they had plenty of cause for celebration, winning most of their games. 

The team that was most surprising to them and everyone else was Ravenclaw, which was beating everyone soundly. It was the new Keeper, Luna, which made them unbeatable.

As loony as ever, living up to her nick name, she spent vast amounts of time watching the sky, singing songs and conversing with whatever life forms she saw, real or imagined. Sill she always knew exactly where the Quaffle was, as well as where it was going be going next, including the goals. Uncannily, with minimal effort on her part, she’d stop it from going in. Then she’d turn, right back to whatever fairy tale, or imaginary creature she was involved with, only to stop the Quaffle again, just moments later.

She remained the Luna Harry had fallen in love with, as a friend, during their Dumbledore’s Army years, calm and unruffled as always. The one game they had played as the 8th year team against them, Harry had control of the Quaffle and was flying fast and furious toward the goal. Dodging in and out of the other players, his eye remained constantly on alert for Bludgers coming his way. Less than six feet away from the goat he reached back to let loose, straight for the goal. Luna spun around, her arms thrown out. The Quaffle deflected from its goal went spinning away. A Hufflepuff chaser snatched it from the air and took off.

Stunned, Harry stopped in mid-flight. “Hello, Harry Potter,” Luna said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t let your Quaffle through. You see, it’s my job to keep them, even one of yours, from going through. It’s quite pleasant up here, don’t you think? There’s so much to see.” She leaned back on her broom and looked up into the clouds. “Look, there’s a quiver of Blibbering Humdingers! It’s highly unusual to see them this far north this late in the season.” She lowered her head, barely. “Oh, Harry you should leave. Another one of your team mates is heading this way with the Quaffle. You don’t want your team to get a penalty for stooging. More than one Chaser in the Keeper’s area is not allowed.”

Harry was still pondering quiver? and almost didn’t hear her. He jerked back and flew out of the area, just in time to see the Quaffle heading for the goal, only to once again be stopped by Luna.

“Bye Harry Potter. I enjoyed our chat,” she called after him as he hurried with the rest of the Chasers on both teams after the Quaffle, currently plummeting toward the ground. 

If Harry was a Divinations kind of wizard, he’d have to put money on Ravenclaw winning the Quidditch House cup this year. 

Harry knew he had to have the inevitable conversation with Ginny. He had known this since the third night he had spent in the arms of Oliver and Draco. First thinking it was just experimentation, after than night, he had to admit it was more than that. He wasn’t willing to give it up. What he was doing, and how he was feeling wasn’t fair to Ginny. She deserved better; she deserved the truth. 

The conversation was unpleasant, but not horrid. Harry always hated hurting people, even those that deserved it. Ginny didn’t deserve this; she was a beautiful and brilliant woman and witch, whom he had just stopped loving. Well, he still loved her, always would. He was no longer in love with her, and there was a large difference between those two things.

After much tears, his as well as hers, lots of shouting, and one last good-bye fuck, it was over. They had reached an understanding. He didn’t think she was particularly happy about the situation. She told him she had known it was coming, having seen him with the other two at the Hog’s Head. The signs had all been there, she had known then, she was losing him.

On the morning of the return home for Christmas hols, Harry had seen her and Neville walking hand and hand to the train. Ginny was going to be just fine. Neville would love her the way she deserved to be loved. Had loved her since the Yule Ball, Harry suspected. 

 

***

 

The Team made it safely to Vancouver where they were scheduled to obtain, or rather join an international Portkey into Moosehead. The team was so large, and most of the Portkeys to their destination, so small, chances were they would be the only ones using it. 

They arrived at the Portkey office with only few minutes to spare. Not to draw attention to themselves in a large International Airport, they could only enter the “Maintenance” room, the secret entrance to the Portkey office, one or two at a time. By the time everyone got through, it was time to depart. Only a few others were waiting, two elderly wizards and a very harassed looking young witch with two small children.

Although, they were starving, there was no time to get snacks. Portkeys for long journeys like this required everyone be at the departure area at least ten minutes before scheduled departure. They all trudged to an open area where a large number of sofas, some large, some small, some sectional, waited for them. There was a two cushioned brown corduroy sofa that looked a bit tattered. Each grabbed a hand hold, one of the children letting loose at the last moment. Harry reached out and pulled him back, placing the small hand on the back of the mangy sofa just in the nick of time. The mother was just able to give Harry a quick smile of thanks before they were whisked away. 

Moments later they landed. The reduction in temperature was felt immediately, but the full impact didn’t hit them until they went aside of the small aluminum-sided terminal.

Snow covered everywhere they looked, the roads, the sidewalks, the trees, the bushes, as well as every building. Sure they were used to snow from Hogwarts. Scottish winters were harsh. Snow that reached over their knees they weren’t prepared for. More than that though was the wind. It was frigid and bitter and came whirling in from the northwest across the tundra in a gale-like force. Harry didn’t envy Draco having to chase after the Snitch in this weather. The wind whistled and moaned and groaned as its icy tendrils reached in searching for any bit of skin left exposed. 

Gloves were shoved on, hats pulled down over ears, and scarves rewrapped, this time to include mouths and the tips of noses, as well as necks and chests. 

“Salazar, Godric, and Rowena,” Draco cried invoking his personal trilogy. Sadly, Helga was usually left out. “Oliver. It’s bloody freezing here. No wonder the Moosehead Magpies agreed to this. I doubt many other real teams, other than us, would be willing to subject themselves to this. No Quidditch teams with any sense would agree to come here,” Draco whinged burrowing his head into the collar of his coat. 

Harry, who was doing his best to make sure not a smidgeon of his skin was exposed to the elements, nodded his agreement at what Draco had just said, as did all the other students.

“And where’s the bloody person who’s supposed to take us to the hotel? There is a hotel, isn’t there?” Pansy pitched in, adding her Slytherin two Knuts. 

Just about then a very large man with obvious Inuit heritage pulled up in lorry-type vehicle that reminded Harry of the Knight Bus gone to seed. Luckily, like all magical vehicles, the inside was significantly nicer than the out. Soon they were warm and toasty and enjoying thick moose meat sandwiches with hot coffee, tea, or cocoa of their choice. The sandwiches were a bit gamey, but they were all too hungry to complain.

 

***

 

It was time. The match was due to start soon. Before they left Oliver’s room, which Harry and Draco had stayed in as well, he kissed them each for luck. They left the room dressed for the weather they were about the face, or so they’d thought.

Harry took one look at the players on the Moosehead Magpies team and wanted to go running off to find the closest thing to a protector he had, Hagrid. Each member of the opposing team was closer in size to Hagrid than they were any of the 8th year team. Even Goyle would have looked small by comparison.

But that didn’t in any way keep the Magpies from being fluent and flexible on their brooms. They flew like a dream, as Harry and the others realised during the warm-ups and introductions of the teams. The Magpies' fans were out in full force. Harry would bet every resident of the town, as well as many from miles around, had come to cheer on their team. They probably didn’t get much of a chance to watch them play at home.

It was clear in just minutes why so few teams agreed to play the Magpies, and it wasn’t just the weather. They were the best team Harry had ever seen, even beating the two teams they’d watched at the Quidditch World Cup. Their flying was precise and not excessive. Every movement was determined and then executed perfectly. There were no wasted motions. If they’d not been the opposing team, Harry would have loved watching them.

But they were, and like every true Quidditch player, Harry wanted to win. He’d managed to beat Malfoy on several occasions, and Harry didn’t know anyone more competitive than Malfoy. Except Oliver, but he was an anomaly. They could do this. 

He and the other players leapt into the sky. The match began. 

The 8th year team took possession of the Quaffle first. How, Harry didn’t know. He and Parvarti and Justin passed the Quaffle back and forth between them as they flew towards the goals. A shout from Pansy alerted them, just in time, of a Bludger that had zoomed past her. Harry ducked almost losing control of the Quaffle, but Justin rescued it. He tossed it back to Harry. Harry was close enough, he could score. He pulled back and let go, only to watch the Magpies keeper bat it away. Harry had barely turned around, it seemed, before there was cheering from the Moosehead fans. They had scored.

The rest of the match was much the same. It wasn’t a completed blow-out, Harry and the Chasers did manage to make three goals. Although from the look on the face of the opposing Keeper, Harry suspected it was more from pity than lack of talent from the Magpies' keeper, or any skill Harry or the other Chasers possessed. 

It soon became apparent that even if Draco did catch the Snitch, and Harry still had faith in him, it would be too little, too late. Harry was beginning to wish the Snitch would soon be spotted. This was humiliating.

One good thing about the intensity of the match; he wasn’t cold anymore. Sweat was dripping off him, only to freeze into little tiny ice chips before they disappeared from sight. Even Parvarti who was always complaining of being cold and shivered constantly was no longer complaining. The only one not perspiring like mad was Draco, and not because Malfoy’s don’t perspire.

The Snitch had not yet been spotted, although Harry could see that Draco and the other Seeker was searching for it diligently. Searching for a Snitch did not have the same adrenaline rush as other aspects of the game. Draco’s face was pinched with cold, his nose bright red, his eyes watering and his nose dripping so often he had to constantly wipe his hand across it. The spell to stop that was a poor choice as it caused it to stop up the nasal passages. Not a good thing to happen. Draco’s hands were trembling as was the rest of him from the cold. Again, Harry wished the Snitch would show itself. 

Suddenly, there it was. It appeared just over Draco’s left shoulder, where he couldn’t see it. It hovered there. The team screamed at him, but each time he turned and no matter the direction, it turned too, remaining just out of his sight. Until it was spotted by the Magpies’ Seeker. 

It was almost as if the Snitch itself realised what was about to happen. There was a small hiccup almost in the Snitch’s flight pattern, almost of shock before it took off flying for its life, so to speak. Draco had full view of it. He and the Magpies' Seeker took out after it.

Draco was quicker, leaner and more agile. But the opposing Seeker was more experienced and more used to the cold and truly was only slightly less flexible than Draco. Not enough to count.

Harry tried to watch the Seeker’s match, but the game was still going on. The Magpies were still scoring, no matter how hard Ron was trying to block them. Ron was dragging, his ginger hair hung in his eyes, wet with sweat, yet half frozen as well. He simply couldn’t keep up. None of them could.

As Harry’s umpteenth attempt at a goal was blocked from the umpteenth time, there was a large roar from the stands. The Magpies' Seeker had caught the Snitch. Draco and the other Seeker descended to the ground and shook hands in a sportsman-like way. It was over. 

It had been a massacre, final score 290-30. But the Magpies were gracious winners. A celebration and party to match anything Harry had ever been part of followed the match. The 8th year team was cordially invited to attend, and just as cordially accepted. Something they all regretted when it appeared there was not enough in volume or potency of hangover potion to sooth the raging headaches or churning stomachs they all had the next morning. Although they did all agree it was the “wickedest” party they had ever attended. 

 

***

 

The large screen in the front of each cabin went grey; the movie was over. A few scattered lights still shone above some of the seats, but the cabin was still except for the muffled sounds of passengers adjusting to more comfortable positions. Even the flight attendants were either resting in their seats, or were in the galley, their voices a quiet murmur.

There was a sudden burst of female laughter, which Harry had come to recognise as Pansy’s. It was followed by the sound of Ron’s loud groan of laughter. “Parkinson, you cheating witch. There’s no way that’s a legal move.”

“Oh no. Well you can ask Granger for rule’s clarification when we get back. She’ll set you straight.”

Ron sighed, sounding terribly put out.

“Besides, Weasley, when are you going to learn, if you don’t want to be beat at Exploding Snap, don’t play a Slytherin? We know all the best and undetectable ways of cheating,” Pansy said, laughing. 

Not long after, Harry could hear Ron’s soft snoring sounds reaching back through the quiet of the plane. Pansy was still as well, Harry assumed she had also fallen asleep.

Of all the newly formed relationships this year had brought, the Ron and Pansy friendship was the most surprising. (Second most, Harry amended, pretty sure his and Draco’s and Oliver’s was the most.) Harry had no idea how it happened, having missed the beginning, but there was no doubt. Pansy now thought of Ron the same as Harry had always thought of Hermione. The friendship, maybe, wasn’t yet as deep. That took time. The beginning was showing great promise, and like Ron with Harry and Hermione’s friendship, Hermione respected and approved of Ron and Pansy’s. 

Harry closed his eyes hoping he might now be able to sleep. Then smiled as under the blanket he shared with Draco and Oliver, a hand ran languidly up his thigh. Fingers stoked gingerly, arrestingly across the seam of his zipper, his cock coming to life under the gentle touch. He tensed. Should they be doing that here, in such a public place?

He opened his eyes and glanced around the darkened cabin to determine if anyone knew or cared what was happening under their blanket. Across from him, Dean’s head was thrown against the back of the seat, his mouth open slightly, the tip of his tongue barely seen. His lower arms were under the blanket. His seat mate’s head was nowhere to be seen, but curled up in the seat next to him were a pair of boots, that Harry knew belonged to Seamus. Only his legs and the jutting of his hipbones under the blanket could be seen. Dean turned his face to the side, opened his eyes and looked straight into Harry’s. 

At that moment, Oliver’s hands unsnapped and unzipped Harry’s trousers, his hand slipping inside to the opening of Harry’s cotton boxers, shifting his position, to mask any sound. Harry gasped and looked back at Dean, who nodded in understanding. Dean then released a soft sigh, before he turned face forward; his hands once again moving under the blanket. 

From the other side of him, Draco moved and his hand joined Oliver’s. Harry closed his eyes and surrendered to their touch. 

 

***

 

The flight attendants began to move around the cabin, the morning sun beginning to shine through the small gaps in the window shades people had not closed properly. Harry had failed to close theirs all the way as well. The light broke through, shining on to Draco’s head and face, his hair a shimmering pink in the deep rose of the rising sun. He squinted and scowled at the small pinpoint of brightness, then looked up at Harry, his smile rivaling the sun in its brilliance.

“Morning, handsome,” he said, snuggling back down into the crook of Harry’s shoulder, “You smell sexy.”

Harry snorted, “I smell like dirt and sweat.” 

“Umm, hmm, just how I like you,” the voice was soft and sleepy. Draco pulled the blanket back over his eyes. His breathing returned to deep and rhythmic. 

On the other side of him, Oliver also stirred, the sun turning his dark brown curls to burnished copper. He opened his eyes directly into Harry’s. He said nothing, but leaned in and kissed Harry long and deep, just as he would and did when they were alone, just the three of them. Then, like Draco had, he turned over, pulled his own corner of the blanket over his eyes, and like Draco again, he too fell back asleep.

Harry didn’t know what the future was going to bring, Auror training, or perhaps a Healer apprenticeship. Maybe he’d take a year or more off and travel, see the world. Or maybe he’d spend the next year or more hanging out in bars and pubs with his friends. The things that young people were expected to do. And when he wasn’t doing that, he’d catch up on his reading, finally taking the time to read all those books that Hermione, and now Draco as well, had been after him to read. There was still plenty of time to decide those things. Whatever it was, he knew these two, Oliver and Draco, would be there with him. 

 

End


End file.
